EXCERPT from Farm Family: A Solo Mom’s Memoir of Finding Home, Happiness and Alpacas

Farm Family: A Solo Mom’s Memoir of Finding Home, Happiness, and Alpacas

The story of a single mom’s pursuit of a dream to start an alpaca farm in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina.

At thirty-seven, Jane Lee Rankin receives news that upends her life: she’s pregnant. Lee is a cancer survivor eighteen months in remission. Her boyfriend won’t commit, and her father is unsupportive. When she decides to raise the baby by herself, Lee feels the scornful glances and judgmental whispers of her conservative hometown.

Armed only with a dream and a toddler, Lee marches into Banner Elk, North Carolina, a place where she knows no one, to start an alpaca farm. As a novice first-generation farmer, Lee faces nature’s most potent setbacks, from disastrous weather events to attacks from predators. And yet, she forges on. With vivid storytelling, Farm Family features a cast of memorable animal characters—including alpacas, Millie, Celeste, Frosty, and Wildcard—and immerses readers into the not-always-pretty world of farming. At Apple Hill Farm, Lee trades fear for freedom. She trades disdain for dignity. She learns that her connection to animals is more vital than she knew, and with bravery and persistence, she creates a home—a farm family.

EXCERPT from Farm Family: A Solo Mom’s Memoir of Finding Home, Happiness and Alpacas

I had always imagined my life would include having children. From the age of twelve on, I practiced and trained myself by being the best babysitter I could be. I was the one on the floor with the kids, playing in their imaginary worlds and making up new games. When an early marriage didn’t work out at twenty-four, I grieved over losing the possibility of having children. Nephews continued to get my maternal attention, as relationships eluded me. At thirty-four, I cried for days when I made the choice to spay Grace, my first golden retriever. At thirty-six, when the surgeon told me I had breast cancer, my first words were “Can I still have children?” My choice to forgo chemo as a treatment kept childbirth as a future option. I wanted to have children. My body wanted to have children. And I was pregnant.

I looked at him to read his response. His face still held the same medical demeanor. I looked at the nurse; her face was unchanged too.

“Is everything OK? Is the pregnancy viable?” I asked.

Vi-a-ble . . . vi-able. The word echoed in my head. Able to succeed. Could I be pregnant with a life that couldn’t grow?

“Yes. It is,” he said. His words hung in the air. “You can go ahead and get dressed, and let’s talk back in my office.”

Yes. It is. Viable. I am pregnant. I am pregnant. A tingle of contentment flowed through my body, low and deep. I’m pregnant.

I finished dressing and walked back down the hall to his office. He sat at his desk, looking over his readers, his face grave. This is the scene where the doctor comes out from behind the desk to shake the husband’s hand and congratulate the couple. But something was wrong.

I sat looking at him, unable to speak as tears began to flow. I was overwhelmed with joy. I was pregnant, with child, about to be a mother.

“I would suggest before you get too excited or upset, you seek the council of your doctors in New York.” He sat toying with a paper clip on his desk, unable to look at me.

I stared at his downturned head. I wanted this pregnancy; I wanted a child. Maybe not in this situation. I felt a strong cord stretch from my heart to the heartbeat of that tiny bleeping bean I had seen on the screen. Life. I wanted his congratulations. I wanted the warmth we had shared for years to reach the baby inside me.

“You have got some decisions to make,” he said, barely looking at me. I politely assured him I was seeing the surgeon who had performed my breast cancer surgery in New York in the next week and thanked him for fitting me in so quickly. My Southern manners kicked in to cover the hurt I felt.

Pregnant, single, and thirty-seven years old. In an ultraconservative family in Louisville, Kentucky, where family included wedlock. Though it was 1998, it felt more like 1968.

On the last stop of the book tour, in Atlanta, I decided it was time to tell Alan. I had successfully avoided seeing him in person since Thanksgiving. Every one of our phone conversations had made me feel separate, alone. Telling him meant risking that nothing would be the same, good or bad.

When he called that night, my breath was shallow through our regular chitchat catch-up. I soaked in the familiar energy. Anticipation beat in my veins. My eyes were closed to hold back the hot tears and to protect myself from seeing in front of me.

“I have news,” I said, taking a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence. The space widened as I held my breath and waited for his response.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I let my breath slowly escape.

“How? I don’t understand. I thought you had that covered,” he said. His words rolled out of the phone and onto the floor like a grenade. A muffled explosion flashed and billowed into a dark cloud of feelings. Sorrow, disappointment, hurt, anger, confusion.

“I did. And against lots of odds, I am pregnant.”

The words of the gynecologist played through my head. Factoring in age and protection, it is highly unlikely.

“Do you know what this will do to our families?” he said, his voice cracking.

Our families? We were grown adults. Both of his parents were deceased. I was the one who would be dealing with the response of a critical father.

“There’s a lot to think about.” His words came out flat. His response mirrored the gynecologist who suggested I had a decision to make. I had barely admitted to myself that my decision was made.

“Alan, if you don’t want to do this, I can say that I went to a sperm bank. I’ve been away enough with the book tour. I can move back to the Catskills or start over somewhere else. No one needs to know.”

We muddled through the rest of the conversation with no real resolution. After I hung up, I realized Alan never used the word “we.”

He wasn’t on board.

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This excerpt is from Jane Lee Rankin’s Farm Family: A Solo Mom’s Memoir of Finding Home, Happiness and Alpacas. Reprinted with permission from the publisher.

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Jane Lee Rankin is a farmer and founder of Apple Hill Farm, an award-winning first-generation farm in the Appalachian mountains of North Carolina. Lee is an advocate for farmers through her leadership and involvement in the North Carolina Agritourism Networking Association. She frequently speaks about farm tourism and the benefits of diversifying farm portfolios at conferences locally and nationally. In 2021, Lee won runner-up for North Carolina Small Farmer of the Year.

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Category: On Writing